Every Chinese New Year, without fail, my family gathers at my ah ma's place for one thing: to make ngoh hiang together.

Not to eat it (though that part comes later, and it is glorious). But to stand around her kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, getting our hands dirty together, doing something that none of us would bother doing alone.

It has been this way for as long as I can remember.

Every family does it differently

For those who have not come across it before, ngoh hiang (五香) is a traditional Chinese dish, sometimes called "five spice roll." At its core, it is seasoned minced meat wrapped in thin beancurd skin, then fried until golden and crispy on the outside, savoury and tender within. It is one of those dishes that almost every Chinese household knows. And almost every household makes it a little differently. Some families add onions. Some add jicama. Some keep it simple with just pork and five spice powder. The variations are endless, and honestly, everyone is convinced theirs is the best.

My ah ma's version has a few things that make it distinctly hers. Water chestnuts, for the crunch. You bite in and there is this satisfying snap that cuts through the softness of the meat. Mushrooms and prawns, for depth and texture. And carrots, for a gentle sweetness that rounds everything out. It is not a complicated recipe by any means. But it is hers. And that is what makes it taste the way it does.

Chop, wipe, wrap, repeat

The preparation itself is actually really straightforward, which is part of why it works so well as a family activity. It starts with the chopping. Mushrooms, water chestnuts, carrots, prawns, all diced up until the cutting board is just a mess of colour. Then everything gets thrown into these big metal bowls with the minced pork, seasoned, and mixed together by hand until it all comes together.

Next comes the beancurd skins. They come dried, and the surface is covered with these tiny salt crystals. So before wrapping, every sheet needs to be wiped down with a damp cloth to get rid of the excess salt. There have been some years where a few sheets were not wiped properly (ahem, my sister) and let's just say those tasted extra flavourful.

After that, it is just wrapping. Scoop the filling onto a sheet of beancurd skin. Fold, tuck, roll. Repeat. Chatting, laughing, hands moving. And before we know it, we are churning out plate after plate like a factory, except it is all handmade with love.

The part I actually look forward to

Here is the thing though. The dish itself is honestly nothing extraordinary. You can find ngoh hiang at hawker centres, at catered events, even frozen at the supermarket. But there is something about standing around my ah ma's kitchen, wrapping ngoh hiang side by side, that no store-bought version will ever come close to.

It is not the dish that makes it special. It is the hands that make it together.

CNY for a lot of families is about reunion. For ours, ngoh hiang is one of those quiet traditions that makes the reunion feel real. Not the visiting, not the ang baos, not the new clothes. Just the doing of something together, with your hands, in the same kitchen, following the same recipe. Every family has their own version of this dish, and I think that is what makes ngoh hiang so beautiful. It is personal. It carries the fingerprints of whoever taught you how to make it.

Honestly, I look forward to this every year for two reasons. First, the eating. My ah ma's ngoh hiang is legit the best I have ever had (and no I'm not being biased at all).

But the second reason, and the one that matters more, is the time. Making ngoh hiang is slow. You cannot rush it. And that means for a few hours every CNY, I get to just be in the same room as my ah ma, doing something with her, at a pace that actually lets us talk, laugh, and be present with each other. CNY is always so rushed, house to house, catching up in ten-minute fragments. This is the part that slows everything down. The part that actually feels like we are together.

At the end of the day, the ngoh hiang gets packed into containers and split among my ah ma's three daughters' families to enjoy over the festive period. Some of us love to air fry them. I personally love them steamed, or adding them to my maggi mee for supper after a whole day of CNY house visiting.

I think most families have something like this. Maybe it is not ngoh hiang. Maybe it is bak kwa, or pineapple tarts, or something else entirely. But there is always that one tradition you do together, not because the thing itself is anything remarkable, but because of who you are doing it with and how long you have been doing it.

For me, it will always be ngoh hiang at ah ma's place. I cherish every year I get to do this with her, because truthfully, I will never know when it might be the last. I hope this tradition continues, that it gets passed on to the next generation. And I hope you have something like this too.